


Shelter from the Storm

by Marguerite, westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-28
Updated: 2009-03-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: By Marguerite, Jo March and Ryo Sen.A fic for Morgan Gower. Or, why you should never allow three ficwriters in a room with grog, a laptop, and a treasure trove of bad pirate jokes.





	Shelter from the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: To Morgan Gower, who couldn't join us in the weekend of insanity.  
This is the closest you can get to a Mary Sue fic without an original character!  


* * *

"Who the hell is Emily Morgan?"

Donna manages to roll her eyes at Josh and nod at the desk clerk while also picking up both room keys. "Obviously she was important enough to have a hotel named after her. Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me," Josh declares.

"She was the Yellow Rose of Texas."

Josh mulls that over. "I still don't know what that means."

"The song, Josh. About how the 'Yellow Rose' of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee? She was a mulatto woman, the daughter of a Captain Morgan who lived around here."

"Was she a nurse?" Josh asks hopefully although his brow is furrowing as he tries to remember the rest of the song.

No such luck. "She was someone more... popular with the troops."

"She was a WHORE?" Josh's voice is far from delicate, and he's managed to capture the attention of both perfectly dressed desk clerks. Neither looks particularly amused. Josh ignores them, because, really, isn't this the kind of thing that should've been in the brochure? "Donna, please tell me that the President's entourage is not staying in a hotel named after a prostitute. It's a good thing Sam's not here."

Donna looks him right in the eye. "She's been dead for over a century. I'm pretty sure even Sam couldn't stumble into a sex scandal with a dead prostitute."

"Call girl," Josh breathes, rubbing his eyes.

"Whatever." Donna heads back to the elevators when Josh calls after her.

"Was that the Captain Morgan of the rum company?"

She shoos him toward the bar as she follows the bellman to the elevator. "The room is free, there's a bar, you've got $19.97 left on your per diem, now would you go have a drink and let me work?"

Josh has to admire how seamlessly Donna blends with the understated elegance of the lobby. It's different from the first campaign, when she had hung back and gawked at anything more opulent than a Holiday Inn. Now she's a perfect fit and he's not ready to let her walk away.

"Come get a drink with me," he wheedles, but Donna's fiddling with their luggage. He takes the bags from her and sets them on the bellman's cart.

"I can do it," Donna argues. Josh brushes her hand from her purse and instead takes a roll of bills from his own pocket. He hands a couple to the bellman and nods toward the elevator. "Come get a drink with me," he repeats.

"So now you have $15.97," she points out, her expression halfway between irritation and amusement. "I don't think you can buy two drinks in this place with that."

"I'll get something with two straws."

"Straws? What the hell kind of drinks are we about to have?"

"We'll think of something." He saunters over to the bar and strikes a pose with both hands on his hips and his foot on the rail. "Donna!" She's making sure the bellman has actually taken their luggage into the elevator, so he ups the volume. "Donna!"

She doesn't turn around, but she does hiss at him. "Let's remember to use our inside voices, Joshua."

"Come on, Donna, you've gotta see this!"

Annoyed, Donna turns to look. "What?" Her expression changes as she takes note of his pose, evidently not as impressed as he thought she would be at his charm and manliness. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I have a little of the captain in me," Josh answers with a giant grin.

The only splash of color on the bartender's outfit is a burnished gold tag, which informs them that his name is Michael. He looks at Josh with no small amount of irritation.

"Captain Kirk?" Donna inquires, her voice dripping with disinterest.

"Donna! Do I look like William Shatner?"

She tilts her head to the side. "Honest to God, Josh, I have no idea what you're doing."

"I'm a pirate," Josh answers, indicating his stance. He supposes it would be more obvious if he were holding a cutlass, but after that fencing incident back at Yale...

Michael the bartender edges away slowly and begins to rearrange the perfectly aligned bottles behind the bar.

"What you are," Donna shoots back, arms crossed, "is a middle-aged politician with too much time on his hands and $15.97 in his pocket. You're certainly not Johnny Depp."

"Johnny Depp?" Josh repeats blankly. "How'd he get involved in this?"

Her tone implies that everyone knows about this but Josh. "Disney's making a movie out of Pirates of the Caribbean."

"The ride?"

"Yes."

He smirks. "What, the first hour's footage of cranky people waiting in the line?"

"Yes, Josh, they're just going to film the ride." She ignores his grunts of protest and waves the bartender over. "They're filming a live action version with Johnny Depp as the lead. Don't you watch the news?"

He weighs the imaginary titles in his hands. "Entertainment Tonight. CNN. Who can tell the difference?"

"ABC is owned by Disney, Josh. They're covering this on the regular news."

"Be that as it may, I was actually referring to Captain Morgan spiced rum," Josh says, smiling at the bartender.

Donna remains unimpressed. "And that's the reason you're standing like that?"

He finally realizes he's still in his pirate pose and removes his foot from the bar rail. "Haven't you ever seen the commercials?"

"No, Josh. I'm never home, the only TV I ever watch is C-SPAN, and CJ's never made that particular joke."

The bartender plunks a bottle of Captain Morgan down on the mahogany surface beside Josh's elbow. The Captain Morgan on the bottle does, indeed, have a sword. But he has his foot up on a treasure chest, so Josh turns it so Donna can see the label.

She rolls her eyes and says, "Promise me you will never make me drink that."

"You don't like rum?"

Donna shrugs. "I prefer whiskey." She tilts her head slightly, her gaze lifting toward the ceiling. "Is that--" Her expression shifts to one of displeasure. "That's atrocious!"

"What's atrocious?" Josh asks, glancing up at the ceiling. The recessed lighting and off-white tiles seem relatively inoffensive.

"This song," Donna answers, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Losing My Religion."

"I wasn't aware you could misplace Presbytarianism," Josh answered, still puzzled.

"It's an R.E.M. song. Or at least it was before the ghost of Zamfir conquered and pillaged."

"I have no idea what you're talking about right now."

"You should," Donna says, drumming her fingers on the bar. "I'm pretty sure the R.E.M. guys are registered Democrats."

Before their conversation can veer any further off track, the bartender asks, "Can I get you two anything?" His expression indicates that he may be referring to psychiatric intervention.

"Rum and coke," Josh answers, tapping the Captain Morgan bottle.

Donna makes a face at Josh, then smiles for Michael the bartender. "Apple martini, please."

"Girly drink," Josh mutters.

"I have to work," Donna retorts, one eyebrow lifting in challenge. "Remember, Representative Buck? I have to call him later this evening and that isn't going to go well if I've been trading shots with the Captain."

Josh pouts. "You should be nice to me. I could've brought Sam down to San Antone with me, but I decided to bring you instead."

"First," she demands, keeping count on her fingers, "don't ever call it San Antone again. Second, Sam, for reasons passing understanding, chose to stay in Austin and see the bats. Third, I told you that Charlie and I wanted to cruise Sixth Street looking for grad students."

Michael places their drinks in front of them and Josh sets out his remaining bills. "The President specifically asked that you accompany me on this trip, Donna."

She's not buying it. "Don't give me that, Josh. The only reason you're in San Antonio instead of Houston is that Toby wouldn't shut up about instant run-off voting."

"Would you rather be doing penance in Houston with Toby?"

She takes a sip of her martini and savors it before answering. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Even though it had been a crappy car trip -- Donna had done the driving while Josh kept going over briefing notes instead of reading the map -- she is smiling at him over the rim of her glass.

Encouraged, Josh finishes his drink and watches Donna take the last sips of hers. She's smiling, she's relaxed, and she's much better company than Sam would have been. As they head toward their rooms, he is so caught up in his thoughts that he stumbles over absolutely nothing and almost lands on his face.

Donna leans in and whispers, "Way to represent the President, Josh."

***

As usual, she has to open the door for him, and he makes his typical excuse, blaming modern technology for his inability to use a keycard.

She flips the small plastic card onto the bureau. "Would you like me to turn down your bed and put a chocolate on your pillow while I'm here?" she asks, leaning casually against the wall.

He flops onto the mattress, interlacing his fingers behind his head. The bed is nice and firm, and the tight muscles in his back start to relax. "You really don't travel well, do you, Donna?"

"Not when I had plans to go trolling for a hot grad student." She pokes her head in the bathroom. "You have a Jacuzzi."

He can't wrap his brain around the idea of Donna surrounded by virile men in their twenties. "Don't you think grad students are a little immature for you?"

"As opposed to forty-year-old politicians who can't hold their liquor?"

Deliberately ignoring the mixture of insult and insinuation leaves him with nothing to say. He knows what this is. Every couple of weeks, they have this moment where there's the possibility that things could change. Josh isn't a big fan of change, especially not when it might upset this fragile ecosystem they've created. He would take the chance if he could figure out the right words, but he doesn't have Toby's eloquence or Sam's honesty, and she deserves both.

So he rolls off the bed and opens the curtains to check out the view. Across the street he sees an unimposing white stone wall surrounding what looks like a miniature version of a building he should recognize. "*That's* the Alamo?"

"I guess so," Donna replies, crossing the room to peek over his shoulder.

He inhales slowly, savoring the faint traces of her perfume. "It's kind of small, isn't it?"

Her tone is low and throaty when she answers. "I thought size didn't matter, Josh."

Josh wants to see the look on her face, because she's changed her lines and he doesn't know what role she wants him to play now.

A sudden, impressive bolt of lightning captures her attention. Josh jumps back but Donna rushes toward the window, her nose almost pressed against the glass. He grabs her arm. "What are you doing?"

"I want to watch the storm." Her mood has changed as quickly as the weather, from annoyed to flirtatious to... Weather Girl. Suddenly, she's the woman who finds as much pleasure in nature as she does in multi-colored Post-It Notes.

And with that, balance has been restored to their platonic ecosystem. "What, are you kidding me?"

"We should go take a walk," she insists, staring raptly at the streaks of electricity against the dark green sky.

"How much vodka was in that girly drink of yours?"

She gives him an indulgent smile. "Haven't you ever played in the rain, Josh?"

"No, because *I* didn't grow up in the wilds of Madison, Wisconsin."

"You should try it sometime," she insists. "It's great. You take your shoes off and feel the water between your toes. All your clothes get soaked."

Wet jeans would bug the hell out of him. On the other hand, the thought of Donna in the rain with her blouse clinging wetly to her breasts... "While the, uh, view might be intriguing, I thought the purpose of having shelter was that you were safe from the elements."

Laughter bubbles up. "You think I'm gonna be *rained* to death, Josh?"

He grins back at her. "No, but I think a few thousand volts might do the job."

"I'm not going to get struck by lightning."

"I'm willing to bet most of the thousands of people who were struck by lightning last year said the same thing."

"Not thousands, Josh," she says, slipping into the tone she uses for her usual fifteen-second briefings. "Only about 500 people a year are struck by lightning in the U.S., and 90% of them survive. You're more likely to get killed in a shark attack than by lightning."

He shrugs. "Nevertheless, let's not tempt fate."

She flounces away from him. "Spoilsport," she says, her tone utterly without rancor. "If I can't go play in the storm, I at least want to sit here and watch it."

"Why don't you go to your own room and do that? I have important, you know, government-related stuff to do."

"What?" Donna scoffs. "Looking for pieces of eight?" She pulls the curtains all the way open.

He has, as is often the case, *no* idea what she's talking about. "Eight what?"

"Coins." Donna tries to turn the lock on the window. "Loot. Pirate plunder."

"You're just not going to let this pirate thing go, are you? And what are you doing with my window?"

She gives up on the lock and turns off the lights. Amused, Josh guides her back to the window and stands shoulder to shoulder with her.

"I'm willing to bet this isn't on my schedule," he says, thrown off balance by her mercurial mood.

"I'm willing to bet you don't know what's on your schedule."

He can't help but notice that she's moved closer to him, her arm brushing against his. "Then what are we doing exactly?"

Donna's voice is too low for him to discern her tone when she says, "We're getting the best view of the storm."

"And the reason you're doing this here is?"

"Because my room's across the hall and for all I know, it faces a retaining wall." She gives him a sardonic look. "And I want to thank you again for bringing me here because that fifteenth-floor downtown view I had in Austin wasn't at all attractive."

He's still laughing when an ear-splitting crack of thunder reduces his world to the acrid taste in the back of his throat. He can't be in front of this window anymore, so he half turns, hands clenched at his sides. His breathing is shallow, but he doesn't want to shatter Donna's playful mood. "You know," he says, in what he hopes is a normal tone, "Toby has a point about instant run-off voting."

Without meeting his eye, she brushes the palm of her hand down his bicep. She's giving him comfort and privacy all at once. Her touch is a welcome counterpoint to his rapid breathing. The silence spools out as he uncurls his fingers and presses his hands flat against his thighs. He has the urge to press his back against the wall, but he doesn't want to call attention to his reaction.

Donna's gaze remains resolutely on the storm. "It's too bad we didn't stop at that bathtub graveyard back on 35."

They've run these lines often enough for him to answer without much effort. "If we'd stopped every time you said, 'Oh, Josh, look at that,' we'd be sitting out this storm *in* one of those nasty old bathtubs."

The glance she gives him only lasts for a second, but he can read the concern in her eyes. "You think you're a joy to travel with?"

"I was a brilliant navigator." Her presence does more to calm him than any of the relaxation techniques he learned in therapy. "I got us here ten minutes ahead of schedule."

He recognizes the look on her face. He's seen this particular smile before; it's the one she wears whenever he manages not to fall apart. "We circled that hideous basketball arena four times before you found Commerce Street."

He acknowledges the hit with a smile, then turns his attention to the storm outside. It really is spectacular. The occasional arc of lightning splits the black sky, disappearing almost too quickly for him to focus on it. Fat raindrops spatter against the window, and the Texas flags flying around the Alamo stand out stiffly in the wind.

Watching a storm with Donna -- enjoying the quiet with Donna -- is unusual, but not undesirable. Still, Josh finds himself slipping back into their pattern. "Why the hell did you want to look at a bunch of used bathtubs anyway?"

"They were antiques, Josh," she retorts.

He loves when she's like this -- smiling and teasing him. She wears exasperation well, which is probably why he spends so much time trying to drive her crazy. "Isn't that just another way of saying they were used?"

"They had character," she answers airily. "They were romantic."

He's grinning even as he makes a valiant attempt to mock her. "A rusted-out old tub sitting in some lunatic lady's front yard is your idea of romance?"

"It's not the tub itself. It's the ambiance," she answers, as if the distinction should be self-evident.

"Again, it's a rusted-out old tub in someone's yard."

And there's her exasperated expression. "I'm not talking about that particular tub but--"

"Don't you mean those particular tubs?" He can't help but interrupt her. It's what they do. "There must have been 20 of the damn things."

Laughing, she reaches over and thwaps him on the back of the head. 

"Ow!" he protests.

"Well," she says with an unconcerned shrug, "if you'd allow me to complete my thought--"

"I haven't in five years," he counters. "Why should I start now?"

"Clawfoot tubs are romantic," she argues, raising her voice to talk right over his protests. "They represent a simpler time."

Unable to repress his amusement, he smirks and says, "Because I for one look back with fondness on the days of corsets and hoop skirts."

The smile she tosses his way is positively wicked. "I thought that would fit right in with your pirate obsession."

He nudges her with his elbow. "You're the one who keeps bringing it up."

She agrees with a small nod, her gaze straying back to the window. "It's the fun of trying to picture you with a cutlass and a parrot on your shoulder."

Josh steps closer and gives her an exaggerated leer. "Are we circling around some bizarre fantasy you've never shared with the class?"

"Unlike you and your Catholic schoolgirl fixation," Donna answers with quiet amusement, "I don't announce every stray fantasy that pops into my head."

He blinks, trying to catch up. A pirate fantasy? Donna has a pirate fantasy? Is that normal? And more importantly, where does he sign up to be a pirate? "Seriously?" he manages to say, his voice oddly high. He wonders if she'll count that ill-fated fencing class in his favor. "You've thought about this?"

She glances over at him. If she were a canary, a yellow feather would be sticking out of her mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

A few seconds go by without lightning, and Donna moves away from him, opening the curtains further. Just as Josh begins to say something about the dark, there's a long burst of electricity from the sky and Donna is at its luminous center, glowing, staring without fear into the storm.

"Come away from the window, Donna," he murmurs.

She turns to him, one hand on the curtains and the other smoothing down her hair. "You got a better offer?"

He does. It's the same offer he's been playing out in his mind over the years, the one he's never had the nerve to make.

The one he can't make now, either.

Fortunately for them both, Donna knows, just as she's always known, and she leans over him. Her hair tickles the side of his neck, her cheek is warm beneath his palm, and her breath is scented with vodka and apples.

He never thought their first kiss would be like this. Well, odds were always pretty high on a hotel room, considering the amount of time they spent traveling. What he hadn't expected was the heady mix of tenderness and passion in Donna's kiss.

Josh moves closer to her, sliding one hand around her back, tugging her against him. Her body feels amazing; she feels *right* in his arms.

Donna breaks the kiss, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. He can't help but slide his palms along her spine. He can't stop himself from burying his face in her hair.

Josh worries that he's done something wrong. That maybe she doesn't want this. "You okay?" he murmurs. Please, God, let her be okay with this.

She nods, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "I was going to ask you the same thing," she admits quietly. "This is--"

"A long time coming," Josh interrupts firmly.

Leaning back, Donna searches his face, weighing his words. "You sure?"

Here's the part where Josh knows he should be able to explain how he feels to her. He should tell her how damn much he's always wanted this. He should tell her that she's the thing that makes him happy, that keeps him sane, but words like that don't come easy to him.

"I'm not scared of this," he answers finally, and then she's kissing him again, so he must've said the right thing.

"Good," Donna says a few moments later. She's smiling, but she's doing it from inches away, and it's different. But *good* different. Her slim fingers ease the knot of his tie, loosening it and drawing it from beneath his collar, taking the time to smooth his shirt as she goes. *Really* good different. Possibly even *excellent* different.

She initiates the next kiss, then pulls back and gives him a very aroused and slightly challenging stare. "Joshua," she whispers.

"Sweetheart," he tries, the word unaccustomed and clumsy on his tongue. Donna almost collapses in his arms, hiding her laughter against his chest. "What?" Josh demands.

"You have got to be kidding me with the 'sweetheart,'" she manages to gasp between giggles.

He's too aroused to be offended. "So, what do you want me to call you?"

Laughing, she says, "You can call me Buttercup."

"Why in God's name would I want to do that?"

She moves her head away from his chest and stares at him. "You're kidding me. You've never seen 'The Princess Bride?' What kind of education did you have?"

"The Harvard and Yale kind," he bristles.

"Do graduates of Harvard and Yale have enough sense to take their clothes off?" Donna asks hopefully. "I mean, I never finished college, but…"

He hadn't noticed, what with the banter and the buzzing in his ears, but she's slipped out of her skirt and her blouse is half unbuttoned. "You took classes in this?"

"I was about to graduate summa cum laude in, you know, getting undressed. Do you need tutoring?"

He just nods, unable to form coherent thought at this point. Before he knows what's happening, Donna has his shirt off and his pants around his ankles. He kicks them out of the way, noticing with glee that Donna has pretty much finished disrobing... and she looks wonderful. Another flash of lightning illuminates her and reminds him of the expanse of alabaster skin that's all his.

It's all his. He doesn't want to share with the people on the street, so he yanks the curtains closed, possibly removing a ring or two, then pushes the very amiable and willing Donna down on the bed.

"You're forgetting something," she murmurs.

He's forgetting a lot of things at this point, faced with the prospect of naked, happy Donna lying underneath him. "What?" he chokes out.

"You need to ask permission to come aboard, Cap'n."

She's way too coherent if she's making pirate jokes, he thinks, so he leans in, dropping kisses along her jawline. She moves beneath him, hooking one of those long, amazing legs around him. He drops down, moaning at the feel of her slim body beneath his.

"If I'm the Captain in this fantasy of yours," he mutters into her breast, "how come I have to ask permission?"

"Because it's my fantasy and I'm in charge," she answers, grabbing his ass to emphasize her point.

When he can speak again, he asks, "How is that different from any other day?"

She laughs, her body vibrating with amusement. Definitely an excellent kind of different. He slides his palm down her abdomen, slipping past her hipbone to her upper thigh, hiking her leg higher around his waist. He wants to lavish attention on her, kiss every inch of alabaster skin until she's vibrating with need. But she's shifting impatiently below him, and he's been ready for what seems like hours, and he has absolutely no desire to delay.

"Josh." He ignores her, kissing his way down to her collarbone and stopping to lick her skin. "Josh," she says again, more firmly.

"Mmm," he mumbles as his tongue traces something along her shoulder.

"Josh, do you have a condom?"

He sits up abruptly, his lips moist and parted. "Condom?"

"Condom."

Damn. "Condom." He kisses her on the lips. "Gift shop."

"Condom, yes," Donna replies, kissing him back.

He kisses her again, then again, then stands up and almost moans, "Condom."

Donna watches him wobble toward the door, picking up his discarded clothes and putting them on haphazardly. "Josh."

"I know. Condom."

"And an eye patch," she calls out.

***

He comes back a few minutes later with a brown paper sack in his hand. He waves it aloft like a banner. "Condoms!"

"And an eye-patch?" Donna asks hopefully.

"Couldn't find one. But I can get a sombrero if you insist."

She turns the idea over in her mind and frowns. "I don't want to have sex with Pancho Villa. My fantasy involves moonlight, a storm at sea, and a pirate."

His face lights up. "I've got all three -- there's moonlight and a storm, and I can say 'aargh' when I do it." He waggles his eyebrows. "Permission to come aboard?"

Laughing, she pushes him away. "Permission denied! You don't even have an eye-patch. Or a hook."

"Seriously, Donna, what kind of sick, convoluted fantasy involves my losing a limb and replacing it with, you know, hardware?"

"You're okay with losing an eyeball and wearing a patch over it?"

"Well, yeah," he says. "At least I'd be getting laid."

It must be a good answer. Donna takes the paper bag, opens it, and pulls out the box of condoms. Her fingers are surprisingly steady as she takes out one foil pouch, opens it, and hands the condom to Josh. He shakes his head. "You," he whispers.

Taken aback, she watches as he undresses again, then slips the condom over him. She blushes a little, biting her lips as she completes her task. "Permission granted," she whispers, leaning forward to kiss him.

He grins at her even as he pushes her back onto the bed. His arms shake a little with the effort of holding his body above hers, then he sinks downward and inward, waiting while Donna catches up with him. There are a million words he might say to her as he moves inside her, but he dismisses most of them. What finally bursts out of him is this: "It is, it is, a glorious thing, to be a pirate KING!"

"Get. OFF me," Donna yelps, pushing him in the chest without very much force. "You're a bigger freak than Sam!"

Josh smirks. "I'm certainly bigger than Sam."

"I so much do not want to know how you know that..."

His expression softens and his eyes get dark. "You're taking me out of the moment, Donnatella," he says, letting his fingers roam between her breasts. "Is that what you're trying to do?"

"I do not want you to get out of the moment, if you get my drift," Donna replies, arching against him. God, she feels good.

"Mmmm. Adrift," he murmurs, warming to the theme. "Seas, waves crashing…"

Donna laughs, and he can feel it through his entire body. Definitely, *definitely* an excellent kind of different.

"Is it high tide for you yet, Buttercup?" he asks. He still doesn't get the whole "Buttercup" thing, but judging from her smile, it was the right question to ask.

She tightens herself around him and slyly suggests, "It will be if I get to go topside, Captain."

In his lust-addled mind, it takes him a minute to understand what she means. Impatient, she pushes against his shoulder and asks, "Do you need a briefing memo on pirate leadership skills, Josh, or--"

"Avast!" Josh crows triumphantly, rolling them over, his gaze turning immediately to her breasts. Donna sits astride him, laughing, and he's suddenly grateful that she's taken control, because he's pretty sure he doesn't have any left.

Also, this new position gives him an excellent view of the beatific expression on her face as she moves above him. It doesn't take long before her laughter fades, and then they're moving together. She's beautiful and she feels amazing and it's not long before she clutches his shoulder and calls his name.

There are probably pirate jokes he could tell, or euphemisms he could use, but he allows his body to speak for him as he presses up into her, holding tightly to her slim arms, and cries out to her and God all at once.

***

"We should ditch your schedule more often," Donna purrs. She's curled up alongside him, her head on his chest and her hands tracing patterns on his arms. "I was worried about what you might do here on your own."

"What did you think I'd be doing?" Josh asked.

"I thought you might end up polishing your sword."

He's already asked, "What the hell are you talking about?" when suddenly he gets the euphemism.

Donna moves her hand lower. "Your friend the captain," she explains.

Josh groans a little at her touch. "I never named it," he answers a little breathlessly, "but you should feel free to."

She mulls it over, then grins at him. "How 'bout Long John Silver?"

"The fast-food place?" He's pretty indignant.

"The pirate, you lunatic," Donna replies testily, poking him in the ribs.

"Seriously, Donna," he says, but he's smiling like a lunatic, "you need to seek help about this pirate obsession."

She arches an eyebrow at him. "I didn't hear you complaining while you were warbling arias about being a pirate king. If I'd known you were so poetic, we'd have done this earlier."

What was that damn poem he'd had to memorize in high school? Muscle memory takes over and he strokes Donna's hair as he begins. "I must down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky." A tear begins to work its way down her cheek and he brushes it away with his thumb.

"And all I need is a tall ship and a star to steer her by," he continues, rising slowly from the bed and walking toward the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Donna asks, reaching a languid hand toward him.

"Just wait." He starts the bath water, testing it for warmth, then pours shampoo into the tub until bubbles begin frothing at the surface.

Donna's curiosity has gotten the better of her. He hears the soft pad of her footfall and her delighted sigh at the sight of the bath water running. Without a word he helps her into the tub, then sits on the edge and runs a washcloth over her back.

"You're a pretty decent pirate, but I still might like the Disney movie better," Donna says, stifling a yawn.

"Nah." Josh's voice is secure. "I already took you to the happiest place on earth."

Donna reaches for his wrist and brings his hand and the washcloth to her chest. She gives him a brilliant smile. "I want to get back in line."

***

Aaargh, this is the end, maties. If you liked the cut of our jib, shiver our timbers with feedback.

 

References:

Princess Bride  
Captain Morgan spiced rum  
Emily Morgan hotel  
Emily Morgan, the Yellow Rose of Texas  
The bats in Austin,Texas  
Pirates of Penzance  
Treasure Island (Long John Silver, not the seafood)  
"Sea Fever" by John Macefield


End file.
